Mello
by emeegee
Summary: Mello, from Wammy's to death. Eventual MattxMello and higher rating. Moved from previous account.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, guys. Started transferring my stuff, I'll get the rest of the chapters up either later or tomorrow, and then I'll have chapters up that I haven't posted on fanfiction yet. So, real updates! Yay! ;D I've moved this story from my previous account, saaski-crys, so it hasn't been stolen. I had put up a notice of relocation back in October.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note or any of its characters.**

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_

Mello cracked open one eye, promptly regretting this as bright sunlight lanced through the shades and onto his face.

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_

He whacked the snooze button on the alarm clock on the dresser, and buried his head in the pillow, trying to go back to sleep. His attempts proved fruitless, however, when the door burst open and something hit him forcefully in the side, jarring him unceremoniously awake.

"Ow! Gerroff me!" He sat up groggily, glaring at the person who had woken him, massaging his side. He blinked a couple times, and the image of a small, blonde haired girl staring up at him wide-eyed from where she had landed on the bed came into focus.

"Mary…?" he mumbled, brushing his long blonde hair out of his face and rubbing his eyes. "whaddare you doin' here?"

"You have to get up!" Mary whispered fearfully. "He's in a frightful mood today, you don't want to start off on the wrong foot-"

Both of them jumped as a voice bellowed up the stairs, "OY!! GEDDOWN HERE, GIRL! FINISH CLEANING THIS UP!"

"_Hurry,"_ Mary hissed at him urgently, getting off of his bed. Mello watched his little sister run out the door, then scrambled off his bed and threw on some clothes- black denim jeans and a loose black T-shirt. He was just finishing tying his sneaker when a startled yelp sounded from downstairs, followed by clattering and a lot of loud swearing.

Mello tore out of his room and down the stairs, nearly knocking over his mother, who had just left her room. He leaped down the stairs three at a time, skidding to a halt in the kitchen just in time to see a large, hulking man bringing a huge fist down on Mary's cheek. She shrieked as the hand made contact with her flesh, and the sound made Mello's blood boil. With a howl of rage, he leapt at the man and wrapped his thin arms around his neck, tightening his grip as his adversary bucked wildly, trying to throw him off.

Suddenly, all the breath was knocked out of him as he was slammed forcefully against the wall, and he heard his mother scream as the back of his head connected painfully with the hard plaster. Dazed, he slackened his grip and felt rough hands pinning him down. He blinked, then glared as he saw that hated face staring back at him, hatred etched into those cold gray eyes, the smell of alcohol lingering on the hot breath that made Mello want to gag.

Instead, he glared up in defiance, letting his stepfather know that he was not afraid of him, and it was this defiance that always got the best of the alcoholic. The man's lip curled in an angry sneer, and before Mello knew it, hard fists were connecting with his scrawny frame, shoving him farther into the wall. As much as it hurt, Mello kept his face blank, refusing to show any sign of weakness as his stepfather vented his anger on him. He braced himself as he saw a fist draw back for another punch—

Which never came. He slit open his eyes and saw his mother dragging his stepfather away from Mello, pleading with him.

"Please, David, don't hurt him," she begged. "He's just a boy-" She got a hard smack on the cheek in return for her efforts, but nevertheless, Mello's stepfather refrained from hitting him again. Instead, he stalked out of the house, grabbing the car keys on the way out the door. Everyone in the house remained frozen in place until they heard the rev of the engine and the car backing out of the driveway. The sound of the motor faded into the distance, and Mello's mother rushed over to him and gathered him in her arms, crying.

"My poor baby," she sobbed, stroking his long hair and hoisting him up to go get a rag. Mary came over, a thin trail of blood trickling down from the corner of her mouth.

"Are you okay?" His little sister asked shakily. He smiled at her, trying to ignore the pounding in his chest.

"I'm fine. Couldn't let him hurt you though, could I?" He reached down and took his sisters hands. "Mom, I'm okay, you should help Mary, though, she's bleeding."

His mother gave a start and looked around. Seeing Mary, she gave a little 'oh!' of surprise and set Mello down on the floor. She wet a rag and dabbed at the blood on Mary's face. "Are you okay, sweetie?" she asked. Mary nodded, looking up at her mother with wide blue eyes.

"I'll go make breakfast," Mello said quietly. His mother looked at him gratefully and nodded, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek, then continued checking over Mary to make sure there were no other injuries that needed tending to. Deciding there were none, she folded her daughter into a warm hug, holding her close and whispering words of comfort in her ear.

Mello looked fondly at them over his shoulder before moving back into the kitchen and scouring the nearly empty cupboards for anything he could use to make breakfast. He finally decided, and got out sugar, cinnamon and some bread and butter. He stuck a few slices of bread in the toaster and watched them patiently until they turned golden brown. He buttered them and mixed together some cinnamon and sugar in a cup, and sprinkled the mixture over the melting butter. He turned, holding the plates, as his mother and sister re-entered the room. His mother gave him a wan smile.

"Here," he said, offering the plates. "It's not much, but it always makes me feel better." Mary gratefully took a plate, and Mello handed the other to his mother.

"Thank you," she said faintly, accepting it. She looked warmly down at her son, and seemed to snap out of a reverie. She set the plate on the table and picked up her rag again, and bent down in front of Mello to check him over, make sure he wasn't too badly hurt. "Where does it hurt?" she asked in concern.

Mello gave a humorless laugh. "Everywhere," he said. "But it's okay, mom. I'm okay." She looked at him doubtfully. "Really," he said at the look on her face. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

"Well how can I _not_ worry about you?" his mother wailed. "You're always so brave, always sticking up for your sister, and _you're_the one who suffers the brunt of his aggression! I'm just… I just… I feel so helpless, I can't do anything, and I have to watch while he beats you and-" she broke down, sobbing. Mello put his arms around her, and shortly thereafter felt Mary's smaller form joining in the hug, trying to comfort their mother.

Eventually, her tears ceased, and she looked up at her children, her two wonderful children, whom she wished with all her heart could have a happy life.

"Mom," Mello said gently, lifting her chin. "It's _not your fault_." He said firmly, emphasizing the last three words. "You're not helpless, you _did_ something today, you pulled him off. That was brave."

She looked up at her son, into his serious green eyes. He reminded her so much of his father… Mello had the same steadfast manner as Michael, Michael whom she had loved so dearly, whom Mello was named after… _Mihael _was his real name, although he had been calling himself Mello since he was young.

"Mommy, here, have some toast." She glanced around and saw Mary holding out the piece of toast that she had put on the table. The way Mary said it, it was a kind of gentle command rather than an offer. Mary was seven, three years younger than Mello, but her mind was so much more advanced than that of a normal second grader. Mello was like that, too. He was more advanced, more mature, than the others of his age. She suspected it was something else they had inherited from their father. From her, they had gotten their blonde hair, their delicate hands, and not much else.

Mello watched as his mother bit into the toast. She had that look on her face, the one that she got when she was thinking of their father. Mello didn't really remember Michael, after all, he had only been three when he died. His mother had been pregnant with Mary at the time. The cops said it was suicide. Mello didn't believe them.

His mother finished the piece of toast and stood, giving her children a hug as she did so.

"You'd better hurry up," she reminded them vaguely. "You don't want to be late for school."


	2. Chapter 2

The school Mello and Mary were enrolled in was not a very nice place. The dull paint was peeling off the walls, when it rained there was a high probability the roof would leak, the teachers didn't seem to care about anything, and kindergartners through twelfth graders were all crammed into the same building. Needless to say, it was an extremely unpleasant environment.  
Mello stopped his sister just before they entered the school grounds. He turned her to face him, looking down at her seriously.  
"Okay. Don't pick fights with anyone else at school today, stay out of the bigger kid's way, and this time, if a high schooler tells you to move to a different lunch table, no spitting on him." Mary looked up at him defiantly.  
"Why not?" she asked, raising her head. "He was acting like whatever he says, goes, and I hate people ordering me around, like I'll do whatever they say."  
"Because," Mello said sternly. "They could squeeze you between two fingers and crush you into a pulp. And I don't want to see you coming out of that building with your arm swollen again. Don't provoke them like that." Mary didn't answer, just looked at him with a look in her eye that clearly said, 'I will if I want to'. Mello bent down so his face was level with hers and gave her a pleading look.  
"Please," he said gently. His sister looked away, an exasperated expression on her face.  
"Why can I never say no when you give me that face?" she sighed. "Fine. I won't spit on anyone." She turned away and mumbled jokingly, "But that doesn't mean I won't bite…"  
Mello laughed and ruffled her hair, and they proceeded onto the grounds together. "See you later," Mary called and sauntered down the hallway to her classroom. Mello watched until she was safely inside before turning and walking the opposite direction, keeping on the outskirts of the throng of students surging down the hallway, giving the high schoolers a wide berth as they fiddled with their lockers.  
He had almost made it to his locker when a rough hand grabbed his hair and shoved him against the wall. Glaring up, he saw Bernie, a large ninth grader, and his group of friends.  
"Ya know," Bernie said, sneering at him. "You really should get a 'air cut. People'll think you're a girl." One of his cronies laughed loudly. "But then, you're probably too poor to get a proper one. 'ey, Vince," Bernie addressed the guy standing to his left, not taking his eyes off Mello. "You got a pair o' scissors? I'm thinkin' we could do this kid a favor!"  
Mello's eyes narrowed and he tensed slightly.  
Bernie noticed the change and laughed. "Aww, it's okay," he said in mock comfort, grabbing the scissors from Vince. "We won't do much. 'ow short do you want it? 'ow about we cut it all off?" He said to his companions, who laughed uproariously. "'old him, Vince."  
Vince pinned Mello against the wall and Bernie grabbed a chunk of his hair. Mello strained to break loose, but Vince's grip was vice-like.  
"I'm thinkin', after we do this kid, wanna go get 'is sister?"  
Mello froze. Bernie leered at him, realizing he had hit a soft spot. "Yeah," he said, bending down to peer into Mello's fierce eyes. "We'll catch 'er on 'er way to lunch, and then maybe beat 'er up some and-"  
He was cut off as Mello broke out of Vince's grip and lunged at Bernie, disregarding everything else. He tore at the bully's face, leaving long red gashes down his cheek. Bernie yelled, and immediately the rest of the gang was on him, yanking and punching and tearing. Mello fought for all he was worth, but was soon overpowered by the older boys. They pinned him up against a locker and Bernie stood up, with blood running down his face and a black eye. He snarled, looking furious. Mello glared back, a thin line of blood on his cheek and fresh bruises on his arms and face.  
"'Old 'im, Vince," He said again, but before any of them could move the bell rang, and a teacher poked her head out of her classroom.  
"HEY!! All of you get to class!" she yelled at them. Bernie and Mello glared at each other for a few moments longer, before Bernie said to the rest,  
"Come on. We'll get 'im another time."  
When they had all left, Mello hurried to his locker, grabbed his books and tore into his classroom, fully aware that all eyes were on him as he launched into his seat. A couple of people giggled and whispered behind their hands.  
"You're late, Mihael," Ms. Thaller, the history teacher, said coldly, marking something in the attendance book. "…again."  
Mello offered no explanation and she asked for none, instead getting up and writing instructions on the board.  
_Read pages 341 to 357 in your textbooks._  
A collective rustling sounded throughout the room as everyone rummaged in their bags for their textbooks and flipped to page 341. Mello didn't bother reading any of it, just opened the book and stared blankly, trying to ignore the throbbing where the fresh bruises were.  
He blinked in surprise when a folded piece of paper landed on the desk, and he looked at Isabella, the girl who sat next to him and his one and only friend, who was looking at him in concern, chewing on a lock of her long orange hair. Mello opened the paper and read the note.  
_'What happened to you? You look like you've crawled out of the depths of hell!'_ Mello grabbed a pencil and replied simply,  
_'Bernie.'_ He tossed the note back and saw her eyes narrow as she read the name.  
_'No kidding. But it does seem like he's gone a bit farther than usual. Usually you're not so beaten up. What'd you do?'  
'They were going to hurt Mary.'_ He wrote back.  
_'Yikes… everybody look out, Mello's defending his sister!'  
'Yeah… he had a bloody face and a black eye when his cronies pulled me off.'  
'WOW!! Really? Geez, Mello, who would have thought it of you? He's four years older than you! Nice job!'  
'Thank you.'  
'What I don't get is, why does he always pick on you? There are lots of people he could beat up, but he seems to enjoy making you miserable.'  
'Probably because I'm different.'  
'Ah, good point, not many guys have long hair in this school… NOT that that's a problem, I mean, it's nice and all… just don't kill me for saying that… yikes…'_  
At this point, they had to stop passing notes, because Ms. Thaller was coming around to collect homework, and they had to pretend to read again. Then she told them to copy and answer the questions on page 357, and if they didn't have that finished by the end of class they had detention. The rest of the period passed slowly, and Mello was glad when the bell rang.  
The rest of the day passed uneventfully, unless you count the usual taunting and jeering that seemed to follow Mello wherever he went. He walked home alone today because Mary had gone to a friend's house. Their stepfather, thankfully, had to work until six on weekdays, and always stayed out late drinking anyways, so he had at least a few hours left until he came home.  
After doing his homework, Mello sat on the couch in the living room, mind wandering. His mother was working a late shift at the hospital tonight (she was a nurse), so he had a few hours to himself. The problem was, he had no idea what he was going to do, and he was bored out of his mind! He got up and wandered around the house, pausing when he got to the door of his stepfather's room. He had never been inside there before, and the door was always shut. One of David's strict rules was to never, EVER go inside his room. Mello was curious, of course, but also terrified of what David would do if he ever caught him snooping. And yet, he was home alone now. As long as he left no trace, his stepfather would never have to know. Heart pounding in his chest, he turned the knob and slowly pushed open the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Mello timidly stepped into the room, terrified of what he might find, and as he did so, the overwhelming stench of booze hit him full in the face and he staggered backwards, gagging. He cupped his hands over his face in an attempt to block out the smell of it. Half of his brain was telling him to get out of there before a) the smell kills you or b) the smell soaks into you and everyone knows you've been in here. The other half of his brain was telling him, no way, you've come this far, you can't back out now. This was the side he listened to.  
After a while he got used to the smell and ventured farther into the room, looking around curiously. He peeked under the large bed and found countless empty bottles of vodka, rum, and other unknown substances. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he saw that the shelves above the bed contained trophies from the strippers his stepfather often brought to the house on the nights that their mother worked late at the hospital. Mello had never actually seen them, (nor did he want to) but he was often kept awake by pounding music and the occasional giggles and squeals of the prostitutes. He quickly averted his eyes from the shelf, which sported a black lacy bra, and other, much less desirable items.  
He walked quickly to the other side of the bed, where a row of dressers lined the wall. Mello pulled open the top drawer of one of them and curiously picked up the photo album inside it. Instead of photos, however, there were newspaper clippings, dating back almost twenty years. They were articles of old crimes, girls who had been found dead or gone missing, and there were comments scrawled over them in red pen. One of them read:

**Missing Girl Dead, Coronists Say Raped**  
_Shannon Tailor, the sixteen year old girl who went  
missing on May 24th, was found yesterday in a ditch  
by a local who spotted her in his rearview mirror.  
"I thought I had hit something, so I looked out my  
mirror," says Jonathan Hughes, a…_

The rest of the article was blotted out by something scrawled in red pen in what Mello knew to be his stepfather's handwriting. It read, _'She felt good, but DAMN did she put up a fight!'_  
Mello wondered at what he was reading. Had David just been joking when he wrote that? He looked at the other articles on the page. There were newspaper articles, obituaries, and pictures from newspapers, all of girls who had gone missing and turned up dead and raped, and all of them had a comment like the one on the article about Shannon Tailor. One of them was a black and white picture of a pretty, black haired girl with long eyelashes. She was beaming, showing straight white teeth. Scrawled across the picture were the words, _'Joanne McHaller- slipped some ecstasy in her drink at a party, brought her to the woods. She was good, but she kept calling me Martin. Got annoying after a while so I knocked her out and dumped her in the river.'_  
Mello stared in horror at the photo album. Could it really be…? He knew his stepfather was cruel, but this was just…  
He snapped the book shut and moved on to the next drawer, curiosity driving him on. In it, he discovered another book. He opened to the first page and stared in horror.  
The page was filled with drops of dry blood that were arranged in rows across the page. They looked as if they had been placed with excruciating carefulness. Underneath each drop of blood was a name written in black pen. One of the names on the first page- Joanne McHaller. Mello flipped through the book in growing horror. His stepfather had filled up nearly fifty pages of the blood of his victims. Mello reached the last page and stared, mouth agape. On this page, the blood looked as though it had been splashed triumphantly by a large paintbrush. It filled the page. At the bottom, in small black letters, was the name. Michael Keehl.  
Mello shut the book. They were all in danger.


	4. Chapter 4

Mello shut his eyes in quiet contemplation, hot water running in streams over his body. He would have to tell his mother as soon as she got home. She couldn't remain unaware any longer. Then all of them, Mary, his mother, and himself, could live a happier life, freed from the ominous, ever present shadow that was his stepfather. He got out of the shower, drying himself off and stepping into clean clothes before going up to his room and lying on his bed. His mother was on a late shift tonight, so she wouldn't be home until around ten, but chances were his stepfather would be home later than that. He usually came back from the bar around eleven or twelve. Mary would be back from her friend's house around eight, so that would leave plenty of time for the three of them to figure out what to do.  
Mello sighed and did his best to relax. Soon he would no longer have to hide behind an unfaltering wall of indifference. They would be fine soon. He shut his eyes, and gradually his breathing slowed and sleep overtook him.  
The blonde was jolted awake to the sound of harsh laughter and loud voices. Was David home already? He glanced at his clock in a panic, afraid he had fallen asleep and had missed his mother's and Mary's return, but it was only seven thirty. This could only mean one thing.  
His stepfather had come home, with drinks, friends, and strippers.  
This was bad- very, very bad. He could hardly manage to talk to his mother while David was there. Every time he had one of those parties, Mello's mother would lock herself in her room, not letting anyone in, even her children. Mello guessed she was remembering better days, turning to a place deep inside herself for comfort, where nobody could break through. Her mind was the only safe place left, and she would not be disturbed. When she made these journeys inside herself, it seemed no one could awaken her from her blank eyed stare.  
A rapping at his window brought Mello back into the real world. He looked around and saw Mary, sitting on the tree branch just outside. He went to open it, and she climbed in, brushing off her skirt as she gave him a look that showed anger and exasperation.  
"I can't _believe_ him!" She burst out furiously. "He's _married,_ for God's sake, and still he brings strippers over and gets drunk with his stupid friends!"  
Mello quieted his sister. "Ssh. If he hears you, and comes up here…" He trailed off, refusing to finish the thought. Mary huffed.  
"I _know,_" she said, quieter this time. "It just makes me so mad, that he can be so inconsiderate! I mean, when he does this, I can't even walk through the freaking front door! And Mom…" she stopped, looking up at her big brother, eyes full of sadness.  
"I know." He rubbed Mary's back, and smiled down at her. "Don't worry, though. We'll find a way out of this. I promise." Mello hugged her, and then stood back. She gave him a wry smile.  
"I have to go do my homework. See you tomorrow. Because I know for a fact we won't be out of our rooms with that lot downstairs." She cast a look full of contempt towards the door, then stalked out of the room and down the hall to her own. Mello heard the lock click as she shut her door behind her, and he sighed. Living in fear was horrible. Having to lock your door every night because you were afraid of what your stepfather would do to you in a state of drunkenness… Mello was just about fed up. Tomorrow morning, after David left for work, Mello would talk to his mother. He would tell her everything he knew. Then maybe they could move away, to a better place…  
They would live in a clean house, with clean, crisp paint on the walls. He would get up in the morning to find breakfast ready and waiting on the kitchen table, and their mother would greet them with a bright smile and a kiss on the forehead. She would see them off to school, beaming, and he would smile and wave back at her. Then he and Mary would walk to school, and she would go to her classroom, with friends calling greetings to her and running to gossip about this or that. Mello would smile and go to his first period, and at lunch would talk and laugh with everyone else. Nobody would threaten his sister, nobody would beat him up, and when they got home, there would be only their mother waiting for them. Maybe now they could have friends over. Maybe now they could have a normal life….  
Mello blinked as he heard somebody calling his name. He looked at his clock again. Ten thirty. Was it that late already…?  
"…Mello?"  
It was his mother. She was standing at the foot of the stairs, from the sound of her voice.  
"Yeah, Mom?" He called back.  
"Could you help me with this?"  
Mello opened his door and trod down the stairs, to where his mother was waiting. "What do you need?" He asked, looking up at her. Would he have time to tell her now…? No, it would take too long.  
"David wants me to bring these in to him. I can't carry them all, could you help, please?" Mello silently agreed and picked up a tray apprehensively. With a knot in his stomach, he followed his mother into the living room, averting his eyes from the scantily clad women dancing seductively in various places around the room. He set the tray down on the coffee table and turned to leave.  
"Boy!"  
Mello froze in his tracks. He revolved slowly to face the man who tortured the life of his mother, sister, and himself, who had murdered his father.  
But the hated face was not twisted in hatred or loathing as his stepfather called him over. There was a sluggish grin on the man's face, showing only drunken pleasure, and amusement over some thing or another. The grin only grew larger as Mello cautiously approached; half afraid he would end up getting knocked to the ground by a punch. Instead, his stepfather clapped him on the back, (which nearly knocked him over anyways) and said loudly and jubilantly, "Tonight's the night, boy!" He laughed loudly and shooed him away.  
Mello cocked an eyebrow at his stepfather's strange behavior, but in the end decided it was only something brought about because of the large amounts of alcohol the man had probably consumed. He ascended the stairs in time to see his mother's door click shut, and sadly went into his own room. He lay there until his stepfather's friends went home, and then made up his mind. He couldn't stay here any longer or he would blow up. He grabbed some extra money he kept hidden under a floorboard and climbed out his window and down the tree. He needed time alone. Alone, alone. The fresh air would help clear his head.  
As he snuck past the porch, he saw the hulking shadow of his stepfather moving around on the porch, pouring something onto the wood and chuckling to himself, still half drunk. Mello stood still until David had made his way through the front door, still snickering and pouring.  
Mello walked to an all night convenience store and grabbed a random candy bar off the shelf. He didn't really care what it was, as long as it was something sweet. When the cashier gave him an odd look, he met her gaze coldly and steadily, and she looked away first, handing him the candy. He left and went around the back of the store, where he perched on a garbage can and unwrapped whatever it was he had bought. It was too dark out here to read the wrapper. A sweet, warm taste flooded his mouth as he bit into it, and he looked down in surprise. He squinted, but couldn't make out the words on the foil. He shrugged and took another bite. He would look at it later.  
When he was done, Mello stuffed the wrapper in his pocket and began the ten minute walk home, savoring the cool night air and the aftertaste of the candy bar. On the way, he pondered the best way to tell his mother about his stepfather. Obviously, she would find it hard to believe, and the shock and grief would be a blow to her, so he had to find a gentle way to break it to her. And when they were finished talking it over, they could put David behind bars and leave for the new place, where they would have friends, be happy, and normal.  
Flashing lights and blaring sirens dragged Mello back to reality. He looked up and a horrible sight greeted him.  
The house was burning.


	5. Chapter 5

He watched in horror as the bright yellow flames licked the frame of the house, consuming everything. He could feel the heat of the fire even from where he was standing. Hot air blew back his hair, and he stared, wide eyed, unable to move, unable to think.  
The fire was untamable. It resisted all attempts by the firemen to put it out, hissing angrily at the water from the large hoses, and instead of shrinking it grew, spreading to the flower bed his mother had tried so hard to grow.  
_His mother._  
That was when it hit him. Their house was burning, and Mary and his mother were still inside. Weren't the firemen supposed to check for people? He looked around, hoping that maybe they were safe, that they had been brought out earlier, when his gaze landed on a man standing a little apart from where the trucks were. He was turned away from the house. The firemen and policemen were focused on the fire, but Mello had a clear shot of the man's face.  
He was laughing.  
David was laughing.  
Mello knew now the meaning of what he had seen earlier, of what David had said to him that night. He had been planning this. The liquid David had been pouring on the porch and in the house was gasoline. To him, Mary and his mother were just another murder. And he, Mello, was supposed to be dead, too.  
He lunged at the man, only to be held back by a fireman who had suddenly appeared behind him. Mello screamed and screamed, tears spilling down his cheeks as he tried to get at the man who had killed his family.  
David turned and stopped short, face twisting in shock and horror as though he was seeing a ghost. Mello kicked and clawed and bit, but the fireman's grip never wavered. The noise of the fire seemed to grow louder and louder, drowning out all other noises, even Mello himself. Soon his grief and exhaustion took over and his strength failed. He went limp, held up by the fireman, who was talking to him, but Mello couldn't understand him, didn't want to. Head hanging, he shut his eyes, tears leaking through his closed lids and falling silently to the dry grass below. The fireman released him gently, and he collapsed on the ground in a crumpled heap, where he cried himself to sleep.

Mello opened his eyes and slid out of bed. His mother's and Mary's death had been just over a month ago. Today was the reading of his mother's will.  
"HURRY UP!" David bellowed up the stairs. The man had held nothing back in venting his anger that Mello had lived, and he had spent a week in his room recovering. Now David didn't refrain from beating Mello up as much, and Mello didn't refrain from giving smartass comments that angered David more. He had nothing to lose.  
He winced slightly as his shirt brushed a large bruise on his ribs while he was dressing. Whatever else he might be (and Mello could come up with many, _many_ unpleasant things), David wasn't stupid, and still didn't give Mello marks anywhere that would be exposed to others.  
As soon as he was downstairs, David dragged him (literally) to the car and flung him into the backseat. Mello stared out the window as the man started the engine and sped down the road, well over the speed limit. The blonde tried to ignore the hunger gnawing at his stomach and instead focused on the scenery whipping by. After the fire, David had taken Mello away, off on a plane, to some town in England. David didn't tell Mello exactly where it was, and Mello didn't really care.  
Barely ten minutes later, they screeched to a halt in front of the lawyer's office. David got out of the car and cast a warning glance at Mello before straightening his tie and putting on a melancholy face, then striding briskly to the door, Mello trailing behind.  
As soon as they were inside the office, David's entire demeanor changed. His confident steps faltered, and his face took on a somewhat lost expression. _'His acting skills are convincing,'_ Mello noted, as the desk clerk gave them a pitying look. The door down the hallway swung open, giving a light squeak, and the lawyer poked his head out. He looked around the small waiting room, spotted them, and motioned to them.  
The office was small and cramped. The desk barely fit along the length of the room, and the lawyer (Mello could never remember his name) had to squeeze through the small space between the side of the desk and the wall just to get to his chair. Two small chairs were crammed into the other side of the room. The lawyer gestured to the chairs and murmured an apology, whether for the cramped space or 'their loss' Mello was unsure. But it wasn't 'their loss'. It was _his_ loss. _His_ mother, _his_ sister, _his_ home. _His, his, his, his, his._  
"I would like to bring to your attention that, since the fire destroyed much of Marisa's and Mary's possessions, we only have what she had put in the bank and the safe deposit box. However…"  
Mello tuned him out. He had no interest in this. He already knew that everything would go to David, anyway. His mind wandered, back to his old home, to school, to Isabella. Did she wonder what had happened to him? David had spirited him away the second the police had 'cleared them as suspects', leaving no time for goodbyes. God, the police were stupid.  
He gradually became aware that the lawyer was saying his name.  
"…Mihael?"


	6. Chapter 6

Mello looked up in surprise at the lawyer. "Me?" He asked blankly. The lawyer gave a small smile.

"Yes, you." He opened a drawer in his desk and reached into it. "She only had one thing left. She left it to you." The skinny man reached over the desk, something clutched in his hand. Mello was aware that his eyes were wide. He reached out and closed his palm around the thing the lawyer handed to him.

He pulled it close to his chest and looked down at his clenched fist. It was small, and definitely hard. Yet there was a certain… comforting quality about it, too. He opened his hand and his breath caught in his throat.

A small, silver rosary, the thin metal of the cross cool in his hands, the small pale beads piled loosely around it, lay in his hand, the only thing left of his mother. He suddenly saw, in his mind's eye, as clear as if it had been yesterday, his mother. Not haggard and hopeless, as she had been with David, but vibrant and beautiful, smiling, truly smiling at him. She sat on her knees on the floor, one hand resting on her swollen belly, the other guiding his hands in a flowing, rhythmic movement along the beads of the rosary, murmuring the words to a prayer long since forgotten. Behind her knelt a man, his mouth turned upwards at the corners, chocolate brown eyes sparkling with fulfillment as he gazed at Mello, face partially hidden by the brown bangs that covered his eyebrows. He had an arm around Marisa, and gently rubbed her arms with two calloused yet gentle looking hands.

As quickly as it had come, the memory was gone, leaving Mello with a distinct feeling of emptiness. His breathing hitched a little, and he blinked back the unexpected tears that had gathered in the corners of his eyes. He glanced up at the lawyer, who was watching him with a sad expression, and caught a glimpse of David leering unpleasantly at him as he murmured a strained, "Thank you."

After the lawyer had spoken quietly with David for a couple of minutes (a time during which Mello could do nothing but stare at his rosary), David politely and 'sadly' excused them, and Mello gladly followed him out of the cramped space and into the parking lot, where David pushed him into the car more roughly than usual. During the silent drive home, Mello slipped the rosary into his pocket, afraid that David might try to take it. He felt the slight weight of it against his leg, and very nearly smiled.

--

David shoved Mello through the front door. The blonde stumbled forward into the room, but managed to stay upright. He straightened and turned around to face the bulky man, meeting his angry eyes with a cold, hard look of his own. David's lip curled as he sneered at Mello, loathing etched into every line on his face. He knocked Mello aside as he went to the counter and grabbed the keys to the house and stormed out again, locking the door behind himself. He never locked the door unless he was leaving Mello alone.

The first thing the blonde did was go up to his room and hide the rosary. He had discovered a small hole in the side of the door, in the thin part that was between the hinges. You could only see it if the door was open and you were looking for it, but it was big enough that the rosary could fit inside easily enough. He carefully arranged it so that it wouldn't get caught in the doorframe when the door was opened and _snap_, then roamed around the house.

The place was a pigsty without his mother. Dirty dishes were piled up in the sink, welcome-to-the-neighborhood fruit was getting moldy in the corner, TV dinners lay discarded all over the floor, and the couch was stained with blood and Mello didn't want to know what else from the countless strippers David had already… entertained in the new house. Mello went back up to his room, the one clean room in the house, and flopped down on the bed.

--

_SLAM!_ Mello sat up straight and rubbed his eyes. When had he fallen asleep? The light streaming in from the window told him it was nearly sundown. His stomach growled indignantly at him, he hadn't eaten all day. He listened carefully to the clattering and muffled cursing coming from downstairs, if David had brought home a stripper, food would have to wait. Unless David and whichever girl he had brought this time decided to take their 'business' upstairs, for some inconceivable and highly unlikely reason.

But all he heard was drunken muttering and various noises from downstairs, none of which sounded like the squealing of a prostitute. Either way, he would still have to wait until David passed out until he could go eat. A few weeks ago that would have been unbearable. Now he was used to it.

Mello furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. David's room was downstairs, yet he heard the unmistakable sounds of the man stomping up the stairs, cursing and banging into things. Why would David-

Oh. Mello got it. David was angry that Marisa hadn't left him anything in her will, and was coming to extract the rosary from Mello to make himself feel better. Like Hell Mello was giving that up. David could beat him all he wanted, he could take it. Besides, in the morning, the man would wake up with a raging hangover and probably forget all about the rosary. It was obvious he'd been clubbing all day.

As expected, the door to Mello's room exploded open, nearly flying off its hinges. Mello winced slightly at the thought of the rosary. Maybe it _wasn't_ such a good idea to put it in the door with such a violent man in the house. David stormed in, face contorted into whatever alcohol-induced mood he happened to be in. Also as expected, the first thing the man did when he got within range of Mello was hit him.

_POW!_

The force of the blow flung Mello into the wall with a resounding _crack._ The boy sat there, dazed, shocked, as a searing pain shot through the back of his head.

_POW!_

Another punch, this time aimed at Mello's stomach. He was shoved farther into the wall, and received a nauseating, lightheaded feeling as well as a large bruise.

David looked at Mello's wide eyed, stunned face, and sneered at him. "Where's that pretty little necklace?" He asked, leaning down so his face was inches from Mello's. His breath smelled like stale alcohol, and his voice was husky.

Mello narrowed his eyes and gave him a look that clearly said, "Fuck you." David snarled and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him even closer. "Give it to me!"

Now Mello spoke, hissing through his clenched teeth.

"_Over my dead body."_

This angered David to no end. The man stood up, pinning Mello to the wall at his eye level. Mello's feet dangled off the ground as David pushed him against the wall, dragging his words out maliciously.

"You little bastard. Just like your father, you know?" He smirked at the outraged look on Mello's face, seeing he had found a weak spot. "Well, I suppose you would be like him, wouldn't you? You're stubborn, too, aren't you? Just like your mother." His lip curled. "She put up quite a fight. After I got rid of Michael, though, then she gave in pretty easily. She was a weakling."

Mello's hand twitched a little. He wanted nothing more than to knock this bastard's brains out. David noticed this. He smirked cruelly and continued.

"And that sister of yours, Mary," he said, smugness apparent in every word he spoke. "She gave me grief. Little bitch. It was always a pleasure to hit her." He sneered as he saw the disgust on Mello's face. The blonde couldn't take it anymore.

"You sick bastard!" In a flash, Mello's fist had connected with the man's jaw and he stumbled backwards, dropping Mello. The blonde landed lightly on his feet and lunged at the man, but, drunk as he was, David still managed to grab him before he could do more damage. He grabbed his arm and swung him onto the bed, causing him to land slumped on his back in the corner. David clambered onto the bed, eyes clouded from the alcohol and yet still managing to gleam evilly with some monstrous intent.

Mello's breath came faster as David pulled him closer and put an arm over his chest, pinning him down. With the other hand, the man fumbled clumsily with Mello's belt buckle.

The blonde looked at David in horror, eyes wide, and kicked out, catching him in the neck and causing him to gag, but the man merely struck him and resumed with more anger. He tugged down the black baggy jeans, and crawled over Mello so he was trapped beneath him, and began to undo his own belt.

That was when the fear set in. Mello clawed, bit, kicked, and hit, but none of these seemed to have any effect on the man. His heart beat so hard it felt like it would pound a hole right through his throat. He breathed hard, trying to force himself not to cry, gasping for air as David shoved into him, harder and harder. The pain was almost unbearable, Mello couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't breathe.

When David was finally done and left for his room, Mello couldn't feel, either.


	7. Chapter 7

Mello looked up in surprise at the lawyer. "Me?" He asked blankly. The lawyer gave a small smile.

"Yes, you." He opened a drawer in his desk and reached into it. "She only had one thing left. She left it to you." The skinny man reached over the desk, something clutched in his hand. Mello was aware that his eyes were wide. He reached out and closed his palm around the thing the lawyer handed to him.

He pulled it close to his chest and looked down at his clenched fist. It was small, and definitely hard. Yet there was a certain… comforting quality about it, too. He opened his hand and his breath caught in his throat.

A small, silver rosary, the thin metal of the cross cool in his hands, the small pale beads piled loosely around it, lay in his hand, the only thing left of his mother. He suddenly saw, in his mind's eye, as clear as if it had been yesterday, his mother. Not haggard and hopeless, as she had been with David, but vibrant and beautiful, smiling, truly smiling at him. She sat on her knees on the floor, one hand resting on her swollen belly, the other guiding his hands in a flowing, rhythmic movement along the beads of the rosary, murmuring the words to a prayer long since forgotten. Behind her knelt a man, his mouth turned upwards at the corners, chocolate brown eyes sparkling with fulfillment as he gazed at Mello, face partially hidden by the brown bangs that covered his eyebrows. He had an arm around Marisa, and gently rubbed her arms with two calloused yet gentle looking hands.

As quickly as it had come, the memory was gone, leaving Mello with a distinct feeling of emptiness. His breathing hitched a little, and he blinked back the unexpected tears that had gathered in the corners of his eyes. He glanced up at the lawyer, who was watching him with a sad expression, and caught a glimpse of David leering unpleasantly at him as he murmured a strained, "Thank you."

After the lawyer had spoken quietly with David for a couple of minutes (a time during which Mello could do nothing but stare at his rosary), David politely and 'sadly' excused them, and Mello gladly followed him out of the cramped space and into the parking lot, where David pushed him into the car more roughly than usual. During the silent drive home, Mello slipped the rosary into his pocket, afraid that David might try to take it. He felt the slight weight of it against his leg, and very nearly smiled.

--

David shoved Mello through the front door. The blonde stumbled forward into the room, but managed to stay upright. He straightened and turned around to face the bulky man, meeting his angry eyes with a cold, hard look of his own. David's lip curled as he sneered at Mello, loathing etched into every line on his face. He knocked Mello aside as he went to the counter and grabbed the keys to the house and stormed out again, locking the door behind himself. He never locked the door unless he was leaving Mello alone.

The first thing the blonde did was go up to his room and hide the rosary. He had discovered a small hole in the side of the door, in the thin part that was between the hinges. You could only see it if the door was open and you were looking for it, but it was big enough that the rosary could fit inside easily enough. He carefully arranged it so that it wouldn't get caught in the doorframe when the door was opened and _snap_, then roamed around the house.

The place was a pigsty without his mother. Dirty dishes were piled up in the sink, welcome-to-the-neighborhood fruit was getting moldy in the corner, TV dinners lay discarded all over the floor, and the couch was stained with blood and Mello didn't want to know what else from the countless strippers David had already… entertained in the new house. Mello went back up to his room, the one clean room in the house, and flopped down on the bed.

--

_SLAM!_ Mello sat up straight and rubbed his eyes. When had he fallen asleep? The light streaming in from the window told him it was nearly sundown. His stomach growled indignantly at him, he hadn't eaten all day. He listened carefully to the clattering and muffled cursing coming from downstairs, if David had brought home a stripper, food would have to wait. Unless David and whichever girl he had brought this time decided to take their 'business' upstairs, for some inconceivable and highly unlikely reason.

But all he heard was drunken muttering and various noises from downstairs, none of which sounded like the squealing of a prostitute. Either way, he would still have to wait until David passed out until he could go eat. A few weeks ago that would have been unbearable. Now he was used to it.

Mello furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. David's room was downstairs, yet he heard the unmistakable sounds of the man stomping up the stairs, cursing and banging into things. Why would David-

Oh. Mello got it. David was angry that Marisa hadn't left him anything in her will, and was coming to extract the rosary from Mello to make himself feel better. Like Hell Mello was giving that up. David could beat him all he wanted, he could take it. Besides, in the morning, the man would wake up with a raging hangover and probably forget all about the rosary. It was obvious he'd been clubbing all day.

As expected, the door to Mello's room exploded open, nearly flying off its hinges. Mello winced slightly at the thought of the rosary. Maybe it _wasn't_ such a good idea to put it in the door with such a violent man in the house. David stormed in, face contorted into whatever alcohol-induced mood he happened to be in. Also as expected, the first thing the man did when he got within range of Mello was hit him.

_POW!_

The force of the blow flung Mello into the wall with a resounding _crack._ The boy sat there, dazed, shocked, as a searing pain shot through the back of his head.

_POW!_

Another punch, this time aimed at Mello's stomach. He was shoved farther into the wall, and received a nauseating, lightheaded feeling as well as a large bruise.

David looked at Mello's wide eyed, stunned face, and sneered at him. "Where's that pretty little necklace?" He asked, leaning down so his face was inches from Mello's. His breath smelled like stale alcohol, and his voice was husky.

Mello narrowed his eyes and gave him a look that clearly said, "Fuck you." David snarled and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him even closer. "Give it to me!"

Now Mello spoke, hissing through his clenched teeth.

"_Over my dead body."_

This angered David to no end. The man stood up, pinning Mello to the wall at his eye level. Mello's feet dangled off the ground as David pushed him against the wall, dragging his words out maliciously.

"You little bastard. Just like your father, you know?" He smirked at the outraged look on Mello's face, seeing he had found a weak spot. "Well, I suppose you would be like him, wouldn't you? You're stubborn, too, aren't you? Just like your mother." His lip curled. "She put up quite a fight. After I got rid of Michael, though, then she gave in pretty easily. She was a weakling."

Mello's hand twitched a little. He wanted nothing more than to knock this bastard's brains out. David noticed this. He smirked cruelly and continued.

"And that sister of yours, Mary," he said, smugness apparent in every word he spoke. "She gave me grief. Little bitch. It was always a pleasure to hit her." He sneered as he saw the disgust on Mello's face. The blonde couldn't take it anymore.

"You sick bastard!" In a flash, Mello's fist had connected with the man's jaw and he stumbled backwards, dropping Mello. The blonde landed lightly on his feet and lunged at the man, but, drunk as he was, David still managed to grab him before he could do more damage. He grabbed his arm and swung him onto the bed, causing him to land slumped on his back in the corner. David clambered onto the bed, eyes clouded from the alcohol and yet still managing to gleam evilly with some monstrous intent.

Mello's breath came faster as David pulled him closer and put an arm over his chest, pinning him down. With the other hand, the man fumbled clumsily with Mello's belt buckle.

The blonde looked at David in horror, eyes wide, and kicked out, catching him in the neck and causing him to gag, but the man merely struck him and resumed with more anger. He tugged down the black baggy jeans, and crawled over Mello so he was trapped beneath him, and began to undo his own belt.

That was when the fear set in. Mello clawed, bit, kicked, and hit, but none of these seemed to have any effect on the man. His heart beat so hard it felt like it would pound a hole right through his throat. He breathed hard, trying to force himself not to cry, gasping for air as David shoved into him, harder and harder. The pain was almost unbearable, Mello couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't breathe.

When David was finally done and left for his room, Mello couldn't feel, either.


	8. Chapter 8

He stared out the window at the country scenery crawling by. David had always driven well above the speed limit, so to Mello it felt like this car was going much too slowly. He gave a bored yawn and stared out at the vast fields that extended farther than he could see, casting a brief glance to the stonily silent woman in the driver's seat.

After a few weeks of wandering around the town, staying alive by scrounging for table scraps found in the garbage can, the townspeople had finally gotten fed up with him dirtying their pristine neighborhood and called social services.

He had been brought to an orphanage, where they discovered that A, he was much too smart for them and B, they didn't want him, either, not two hours after he had arrived in the first place. So they had made some phone calls while he had made some trouble, and now here he was, packed into a stuffy old vehicle going who knows where, somewhere in the middle of the country.

Finally. The car slowed to a stop, tires crunching on loose gravel as they pulled into a large driveway. Mello blinked disinterestedly up at the huge, manor-like house towering high above his head. The woman got out of the car and motioned for him to follow, already starting off briskly for the huge, imposing doors.

Mello stretched leisurely, taking his time, before ambling after her, shoving his hands in his coat pockets against the chilly winter air. He paused for a moment, frowning, as his fingers brushed something he couldn't identify. He pulled it out of his coat pocket and smoothed out the material, flipping it over.

It was a candy wrapper, with large silver letters printed across the foil. Chocolate. The taste flooded his mouth as his memory rushed back. So, that's what it was. He'd have to find more.

He shoved the wrapper back into his pocket and followed the woman up to the doors. She led him up through a large foyer and a maze of hallways, where children ceased their games long enough to stare at him as he walked proudly through their midst.

The woman stopped at the end of a corridor and nodded curtly at him to proceed through the small oak doors.

"Roger will be in shortly." She stated, shutting the door behind him with an echoing _click_. Mello looked around the large, neat office and swung himself into a chair that stood in front of the neatly carved desk.

He paid no attention when the door clicked and swung open again, admitting an old man with a large bald spot on the top of his head, and sporting a pair of small, round spectacles. He moved quite agilely, despite his older looks, and gracefully took a seat behind his desk. The man nodded at Mello and gave him a small smile. Mello continued to look him over disdainfully.

"As you may have been told," the old man began, "My name is Roger. This," he spread his arms, gesturing around him. "…is Wammy's House Orphanage. Although I am truly sorry you have to be here, it is our pleasure to offer you a place you may be safe and, hopefully, happy."

Mello rolled his eyes. Roger studied him for a moment, taking in the dirty young boy with the long blonde hair, tattered coat, and piercing, calculating stares. There was a smudge of dirt on his cheek, and he looked as though he had not bathed for some time. Roger also noticed that it was not the face of a child he stared into. No, children were innocent and pure. This boy had a cold, indifferent look about him, and an aura that told of experience beyond his years. He didn't deserve this, Roger thought sadly. The man doubted that this boy had ever experienced true childhood.

"Now." Roger brought his hands together gently. "If you'll just let me say a few things. Here, at Wammy's House, nobody goes by their real names. So if you'll just pick something for us to call you-"

"Mello." The boy cut him off. The answer was immediate; no thought whatsoever. Roger assumed that he had probably been going by that name all his life.

"Wonderful. Now, I will have a caretaker show you to your room, and I will send someone in to further explain things to you after you wash up. There is a bathroom connected to your bedroom."

As if on cue, there came a knock on the door and a motherly looking woman bustled in.

"Ah, Anna." The woman looked up at the mention of her name and paused in the act of emptying the trash can.

"Yes, Mr. Roger?"

"I would like you to escort Mello here to room 543, please, and then fetch Linda. I would like to speak with her for a moment."

Anna beamed at Mello. "A new arrival, hm? Here, let me take your coat, sweetie, you'll burn up."

Somewhat hesitantly, Mello awkwardly let the woman slip his coat off his shoulders, and Roger noticed a rosary hanging around his neck. The string was much too long, and the cross rested against the boy's lower abdomen. Roger knew that rosaries weren't meant to be worn, but he said nothing out of respect for Mello, figuring that it was some relic of his past. Many of the children at the orphanage had something as a reminder of their childhood, and all the staff knew it was a subject that was not to be touched. It was the one constant in the lives of the children, and was important also for the stability of their sometimes fragile minds. So he said nothing, watching in silence as Anna hustled Mello out the door, much like a mother hen. The corner of his lip lifted slightly. The caretakers were such devoted, wonderful creatures.


End file.
